


et tea mortem

by NorthernGreen



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Background Trent Ikithon, Cute, Fluff, M/M, Smut, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Trent Ikithon Being an Asshole, like so much fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:07:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23185267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthernGreen/pseuds/NorthernGreen
Summary: In which Caleb nearly freezes to death, and a kind firbolg helps him out.
Relationships: Caduceus Clay/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 12
Kudos: 117





	1. Chapter 1

The first thing he realizes, stupidly enough, as soon as he comes to, is that he's cold. 

Which is stupid, really, he was a fire mage, he could snap his fingers and have this forest burnt to the ground. But his hands are stiff and unwieldy, and barely bend, let alone make the complex movements he needed for the spell. No matter how much Ikithon had trained him to be aware through pain unlike anything he had experienced before, he had at least had enough faith to think that he wouldn't let himself freeze to death.

Faith not well spent, of course, but he knew that way before this particular incident. In any case, he stares out into the woods, oddly okay with dying like this. He wasn't uncomfortable, per say, and it'd be pretty easy to just fall asleep like this. Finally get some rest, find some peace in this snowfall. There's not much better sights for him to die to, he supposed. His eyelashes flutter, piercing blue eyes finally closing for what he hopes might be the last time. 

Until there are strong hands on him, and he finds the strength in him to stir, just a bit.  
Through the haze, he hears "Well, what do we have here?" Though his eyes barely open, he sees a tall figure standing there, with a sort of pink halo surrounding them. It's ridiculous, and stupid, and he can't help the small grin that spreads across his face at the image before he falls into sleep. 

\--

When he wakes, it is slow, and warm, and his limbs are heavy and lazy with it. Not just heavy with warmth, he realizes, a few seconds later, but heavy with the weight of someone else on top of him. Astrid, he assumes, or Eodwulf. Ikithon would yell at them later, if he found them sleeping like this, but instead, he snuggles in closer, nose twitching as something tickles his nose. Not Astrid's hair, too short for that, but far too soft and comfortable to be anything that Eodwulf could have grown. His eyes open, and. It's pink. 

Pink, and short, and attached to gray jawline, that he is currently nuzzled up to like a goddamn kitten, with a hand carding through his hair, and he scrambles back like he was burnt. Granted, it's more an unenthusiastic shift, he's still far too weak to do anything too much, but the hand pauses. All of a sudden, there's pink eyes looking back down at him.  
"Oh, wow, didn't expect you to wake up yet. Would have had some tea put on for you, if you're amenable. That's good though, good progress, doing really well there." The voice is deep, and warm, and very calming, but it does nothing to soothe his nerves as he struggles to back up. 

The man in front of him looks a bit concerned at his struggling, and backs up himself, revealing a nude chest, and ohgod he's naked. Both of them are naked. Both of them were naked and he was just spooning him like he was the finest silverware. The mans eyes look down in confusion, before they widen, him drawing a spare blanket around himself. "I, y-you were too cold for a warm bath, shock to your system. Body heat was the best op- oh, I am just making this so much worse, aren't I. I'll, I'll go make tea." 

And with that, the flustered firbolg, he can make that out now, exits, a blanket thankfully wrapped around his middle. 

Bren, bewildered and flustered, can only manage to make his way into a seated position before he's exhausted his energy, at least for the moment. Looking around, he thinks he was in a cabin, the walls so covered in moss and foliage it could be the finest gold underneath, and he would have no idea. But, as paranoid as he was, as scared as he was, he was offput by the general coziness. There was no visible fire, but it was warm. The blankets were worn and comfortable on his skin, and there's the telltale smell of food and tea brewing in the room next door. 

He's not sure how much time has passed, Bren eventually dozing off, before he's being gently tapped awake by the same firbolg, now brandishing food, and tea. Along with that, he was wearing clothes. Loose pants, along with a comfortable looking shirt, and Bren has never been so grateful for such a normal thing in his life.  
"I didn't know what you liked," The firblorg says, almost apologetically, as he lays a plate in front of him, piled with food. Steaming vegetables, a roll of bread and honey, a bowl of broth. All light fare, and logically, he knows that's good for now. It'd been so long since he's eaten, but he can't help but dart and grab for the food, grabbing the roll of bread and stuffing it into his mouth. His jaw is like lead as he chews, throat so dry, but he forces it down, it sinking like a weight into his stomach. 

But it's food. It's food and it's good and it's fantastic as he attempts to sip at the broth, the firbolg quickly going and grabbing the bowl, helping him with it.

He might have been embarrassed, normally, if he weren't so focused on not choking while still shoveling it in his mouth. It wets his once dry throat, and while it could have tasted like dirt and he would have still ate it, it's actually really pleasant. Earthy, yes, and not the richest fare he's ever eaten, but it's the same unassuming comfort that exudes from the rest of the cabin, and he can't help but bask in it, just a little. 

The firbolg has the decency not to comment as he ate his fill. Bren had never been a big eater, but the amount of food that was needed to fill his shrunken stomach was pitiful, and the plate was still largely full as the firbolg laid it to the side.  
"Sorry bout that," his voice was rumbly, deep and maddeningly even, like he saved strangers from death every day. "Really was the best way to get you warmed up without shocking your system, but it probably was a bit jarring to wake up to." He sounded apologetic, but not scared of consequences, like Bren had grown to associate with those words. 

Instead, he was fully focused on unfolding what Bren recognized as his clothes, clean and dry. "Hope you didn't mind, you were out for a while, figured you'd appreciate clean clothes." The way he spoke, it was odd. He wasn't waiting for his response, no lingering glances that attempted to spark his voice. Like he was used to not having a response.

Placing them within his reach, and politely turning his back, the firbolg starts to talk to the walls themselves, furry arms reaching out to gently pat the moss and lichen that lined the walls. "Now, be nice to our guest, alright? If he needs something, it'd be nice to hear about it." Gently admonishing, but still kind, and familiar, like he was talking to long known friends instead of fucking moss. It's sort of fascinating, Bren unable to tear his eyes away as he watched him move around the room, still managing to tug on his clothes. 

After a few moments, he turns around. "Well, now that we've gotten you comfortable, I'm Caduceus. Caduceus Clay, it's a pleasure to meet you." With that, he extends his hand.

Staring at it for a moment, there's really only one polite thing to do. After this strange man had saved his life, the least he can do is offer some sort of name. Even if it's not his own.

"C-Caleb." His voice is hoarse with disuse, but the name rolls off his tongue like it really was his. 

The way the firbolg smiles makes it worth it.


	2. Chapter 2

It was strange, here.

The days blurred together, not set by meals or sleep. As soon as he ate something, he would pass right back out. Caduceus said it was normal, good even, that he was gathering his strength again, that sleep would help his body to heal.

And he was feeling stronger. Now, he could stand and wander outside to use the bathroom without asking for help, managing to make the trip without falling. 

But. Caduceus. He was strange. As Bren spent the days there, sleeping and gathering his strength, he had the perfect position to observe Herr Clay. The talking to the plants was not a one off thing, nor was the strange kindness he seemed to show to them. When he had gathered the courage to ask him about it, he had simply said "Everyone needs a kind word sometimes." It was such a far cry to what he was used to. Master Ikithons constant lessons, that he should see what he can get out of every situation, that he should be guarded, that so many of his traits were useful. 

The only thing Caduceus asked of him was to get better, and to help in the garden if he had the energy. It was offputting, and he couldn't help but try and see if he had any ulterior motives, if he was gonna harvest his organs once he was healthy.

And yet not once did he wake up in a bathtub full of ice. 

It'd almost be picturesque, if not for the near constant nightmares. No matter how many times he convinced himself he was fine, breathing in the smell of honey and peatmoss, he was still there.

Burning hair. The crackle of wood. Smoke in his eyes. The screams of his mother and father. The look in Ikithons eyes, Astrid and Eodwulfs eyes, the disappointment in them. The cold, clean walls of the asylum. The guard, throat slit and draining onto the floor. The weeks of nonstop travel, Bren traveling as far north as he could manage before collapsing. 

As much as he tried to quiet his sobs, Caduceus probably knew. Unless it was coincidence that whenever he had these nightmares, Caduceus just happened to have a cup of tea ready at 2 in the morning for him.   
And never once asked him why he was up at such a late hour. Instead, he would only encourage him to get some rest, if he could, and that he was always just a few rooms away. 

It was sweet, in a way he hadn't experienced in years, and he found himself soaking up the attention like a flower in the sun, despite his best efforts. 

Quite strange, indeed.


	3. Chapter 3

It's in the second week of his guest staying that he notices. 

He had set Caleb up in his own bedroom, Caduceus instead sleeping in the living room, rather than any of the families rooms. Clarabelle was awfully territorial, and if she found out anybody had been in her room, there would be hell to pay.  
Caleb was an interesting sort, fighting to get out of bed far sooner than be should have, saying something about earning his keep, whatever that was supposed to mean. But, Caduceus didn't fight him. He appreciated the help, even if Caleb could stand to be a bit gentler with the lilies growing over the Smith's. He couldn't do much without having to sit down, catch his breath, and he slept like the dead each night, but that was healing for you.  
He knew that wasn't his real name, of course, but far be it for him to protest it. He probably had a reason to lie, all things considered, and Caduceus didn't see the need to know his true name. He seemed happy to be called by it, anyway. 

There was a lot of healing for this man to do, mental and physical, and he was grateful that the Wildmother had deigned him fit enough to help this man on his journey, wherever that may be. 

No, but what he notices is far deeper than that. It even took him a while to notice it, and he always had a knack for this sort of thing. They were barely there, hidden under layers and layers of self control, reactions to things he said.  
When he corrected him, Caleb flinched like he expected a punishment to come from it. When he questioned something he did, he acted like Caduceus was judge, jury, and executioner, scrambling to defend himself before Caduceus could even explain his question. When he left the man alone, for the few times he left into the woods to forage for various mushrooms and berries, he was always exactly where he left him, like he was afraid to even breath without him around. 

It was worrying, to say the least. Caduceus had tried to ask him about it, concerned that it was maybe something he was doing wrong. It had been a while since he had spent this much time with anybody at all, even longer for someone that wasn't family, and he might have forgotten his manners. But that didn't go well, Caleb clamming up and acting cold, withdrawing completely from the strained friendship he had started to develop. 

Strangest yet, was his reaction to praise. Caleb was smart, extremely so, and remembered and followed instructions to a t. It was impressive, really, but when Caduceus had remarked on that, Caleb merely averted his eyes, asking what he could help with next, ears blushing pink. And yet, the second time he completed a task, and waited for Caduceus to check over it, Caleb still not trusting himself after he overpruned a blackberry bush, he stood just a little bit straighter, stood expectantly, clearing hoping he would say it again. 

And so he did. Unlike other things, this was the thing Caleb fought him on the least, the thing that made him open up just the smallest bit, like a flower waiting to bloom. Whenever he did something well, whenever he made progress on his physical healing, Caduceus was there with an earful of praise for the man, not understanding the delight that curled inside of him when he saw the man smile and blush and avert his gaze.

It doesn't stop there either. Overtime, as Caduceus gently encourages him to open, he does. Slowly, at a snail's pace, but Caduceus is nothing if not patient, especially if the prize was this.  
Caleb, over dinner, excitedly talking about how he had figured out a new spell, gotten past a certain block in his transcribing, explaining the in's and out's so patiently to a confused but happy Caduceus. A bright sparkle in his eye as he talks more in one hour than he ever did in the first week he was staying with him.

Caleb forgetting to apologize for his excitement when Caduceus asks a good question, a question that inspires him even more.  
Caleb, when Caduceus had run into town for incense and various other supplies, smiling and rumbling in Zemnian to a perfect cat named Frumpkin that he had summoned from thin air.  
Caleb, warm and sleepy from a day's hard work and good food, falling asleep in front of the hearth.  
Caleb, who was brilliant and beautiful and bright, settling in perfectly to his life like he had always meant to be there. 

Caleb, doing his best to stifle the sobs that came with his nightmares, in an effort not to wake him.  
Caleb, who looked so grateful when Caduceus said that it was fine, he didn't have to build the fires.  
Caleb, who still wrapped his arms everyday. 

He doesn't understand the warm bloom in his chest, until he does.  
It's a calm, quiet day, the middle of the week. Spring had came and went, instead bringing summer to the two of them. Caleb had been with him for about two, nearly three months. Nearly fully recovered, physically, though there was still a wheeze in his chest if he exerted himself too much. 

The days growing longer, the weather growing warmer, the showers of rain less frequent. Caduceus had been inside, preparing lunch and tea, calling him in from the Grove, when he sees him. And he means really sees him. 

Caleb, looking up, smudging dirt on his cheek, with the most honest grin he's given him yet, straightening up from the portion of the Grove he had been tending to. Cheeks bloomed with a healthy flush, no longer the sickly pallor he had met him with. Red curls tied up, sky blue eyes peering out from an expanse of freckles. Wearing clean clothes that Caduceus had dug up from God knows where. Lit up by sunbeams, surrounded by Melora's blessings, and Caduceus realizes he's in love. 

And isn't that a beautiful thing? To realize, and to know, and to nurture the warmth inside of himself. He's never been in love before, but he knows that this is what it was.  
It was a new, thrilling sort of dance, balancing the joy that it brought him, and the sick nerves that built up inside of his chest whenever he saw him. The innocent touches that he and Caleb had slowly become accustomed to, things that were inevitable when two people lived in such close quarters, suddenly left him without words. The fleeting smiles that Caleb gave him lifted his heart. When Caleb liked a dish he made, when Caleb thought that he was clever for his gardening techniques, when Caleb shyly offered him a book he had bought in town. All of it left him breathless. 

He knew about sex of course, it was like any other point of nature, which he had been surrounded in since he was born. However, he could count the number of times he had pleasured himself on one hand, and the number of times he had felt that low, rolling heat in his gut towards another person was none. Not that anything was wrong with it. He appreciated his body, and took care of it, but he would much rather tend the garden most days, or take care of the family home. And, being as secluded he was, he hadn't had many opportunities to develop this side of himself. 

And yet, there it was, calling his attention, filling his nights with visions. Visions of Caleb, happy and healthy. Caleb, accepting Caduceus and all the attention and praise he offered. Caleb, understanding just how brilliant and beautiful he was. Caleb, flushed and panting and smelling like him.  
When he awoke from these dreams, cold with cooling sweat, sleepwear sticky with release, it was with a patient *not yet*. Not until Caleb was ready. 

He was pretty sure Caleb returned his feelings. It would be hard to miss the heated looks shot his way, the lingering gazes that would drift from his mouth to his midsection to his waist. But he could wait until Caleb was comfortable with coming to him with this. He refused to push the issue until he was ready. 

Until then, he did his best to keep the information to himself. No need to make Caleb feel rushed. His garden doesn't have much advice, though the information spreads quickly.

The tulips have always been such terrible gossips.


End file.
